


Unopened

by mydeira



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A familiar face in a nowhere bar. Xander Harris is about to get a wakeup call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unopened

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ironfic Het Challenge #1 (on LiveJournal) vs. kallysten Buffy Het iron author, special ingredient: fantasy. I just go where the muse leads. If I argue too much, she gets huffy and she stops talking to me, and that’s never a good thing. Thanks to Savvy for the beta and encouragement.

“You’re a difficult man to track down, Xander Harris.”

 

The glass stopped halfway to his lips.  He’d been on the move ever since leaving behind all that he had known in a crater that had once been his hometown.  With Sunnydale went any roots Xander would ever put down.  With his friends scattered around the world, what was the point?  He had kept in touch for awhile with the occasional phone call and report to the new Council, but otherwise he had been a man alone unto himself.  After two years wandering Africa, he had moved on to the Middle East.  Now, six years after Sunnydale went the way of the dodo, he was starting his exploration of Asia.  Only once in all that time had he seen any of the people he had known.  Until now.

 

Setting the glass down, Xander turned in his stool to find Buffy in the middle of a Siberian bar, waiting on his response with a look of irritation.

 

“You’re not here,” he said flatly, turning back around.

 

He felt cold fingers brush against his neck before he was tumbling off the stool to crash on the grimy, wet bar floor.

 

There was a wry smile playing on her lips as she peered down at him.  “So, still think I’m not here?”

 

“First of all—ow!  And secondly, I’m in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia, kind of the last place I’d expect to run into you, or anyone, for that matter,” he grumbled.  “Couldn’t you have been a bit gentler?”

 

“I think you had that coming,” she said, holding out her hand.

 

Taking her hand, he got to his feet.  “Maybe,” he grudged.

 

Buffy looked at him squarely.  “There’s no maybe about it,” she corrected.  “But that can wait.  What’s a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?”

 

“Not beat up her friends, for one.”

 

“You think that would help?” she teased.

 

Xander shook his head.  “Go grab us a table and I’ll get us something not beer.”

 

“Xander, that was practically a decade ago!  I think I can handle a beer now.”

 

“I’m having enough trouble handling regular Buffy, do you think I want to take on Cave Buffy again?”

 

“Wuss,” she laughed, but headed off for the table.

 

He watched her go.  God, she looked good.  It was the first time he had seen her not look tired or drawn.  The last time he saw her, she had looked happier than she had in years, but very, very tired.  But the tired was gone.  Probably because she no longer carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.  That usually helped.

 

Buffy had removed her white parka and was looking around the room with interest when he rejoined her.

 

“Did you purposefully seek out the worst bar in all of Russia?” she asked, taking the vodka bottle and a shot glass from him.  She considered it a moment, then looked back at him.  “And how is vodka supposed to be safer than beer?”

 

“Higher alcohol content.  Pretty much kills anything you put in it,” he replied lightly, sitting across from her.  “And if you’re here, I’m going to need something stronger than beer.  Because, great as it is to see you, Buffy, I have a feeling this isn’t a social call.”

 

She didn’t say anything, just poured herself a shot and tossed the clear liquid back.  Her eyes went wide as she swallowed.  “You weren’t kidding about the killing,” she said finally.  Then she smiled, “But I think it could grow on me.  It has a pleasant, tingly warm sensation.”

 

While Buffy enjoyed vodka afterglow, Xander took two of his own.  For the longest time, he wouldn’t drink anything stronger than beer, thanks to memories of his father on whiskey.  But a few years back, when a couple bottles or pints had become half a dozen on a good day, Xander realized he was well on his way to giving his father competition regardless of his intentions.  That didn’t make him stop drinking, however, though he probably should have.  Instead, he limited himself to drinking once a week and had started drinking harder stuff.  He’d been through too much to not have some anesthetic in his life.

 

He had just poured his third when Buffy said, “Easy there, slugger, this isn’t that bad, is it?”

 

He took the shot, then sat back and frowned.  “Yeah, it is.”

 

Buffy grew sober.  “You know, Xander, all the alcohol and world travel aren’t going to make things go away.  Running, it doesn’t work.”

 

“I have six years on your three months,” he stated.  “It’s working just fine.”

 

She sighed. “Xander, what happened to you?”

 

“Sunnydale pretty much sums it up in a nutshell,” he replied with a bitter laugh.  “And the ‘running’, as you called it, seems to be working out for me a lot better than staying put somewhere did for everyone else.”

 

He pulled out a crumpled, unopened, yellow envelope and slammed it on the table.  “Do you know how many of these I’ve gotten since...  Do you know how many?” he pressed.  She didn’t respond, just looked at him sadly, so he went on.  “One for everyone.  There’s one for Willow, one for Dawn, one for Faith, and even one for fucking Andrew.  One telegram for everyone I ever cared about to let me know they were gone.  A car accident, a demon horde, childbirth and choking at an Outback Steakhouse.  And this one,” he tapped it for emphasis, “is Giles.  But I didn’t need to open it to know that, do you know why?  Tell me, Buffy, do you know why?”

 

“Because there’s no one else,” she said quietly.

 

“That’s right,” he sneered, “there’s no one else.  There was Giles and there was me.  And as I was the one still standing, it couldn’t be me the telegram was about, could it?”

 

“Stranger things have happened.”  She poured herself another shot and stared at it quietly for long moments.  “Would it have been so terrible to settle down somewhere?  Start a new life?”

 

“I spent the first twenty-two years of my life in one place, that summer trip to Oxnard aside.  It was time to stretch my legs.  Besides,” he added, “all my friends were scattered around the globe, where _could_ I settle?”

 

“Well, you didn’t have to avoid us like the plague either!” Buffy retorted, anger flashing in her eyes.

 

“I kept in touch.”

 

“Monthly reports to the Council do not a friend make.”

 

“It’s what I had to do,” he said unwaveringly.  He’d dealt with his decision at the funeral nearly four years ago.  Seeing everyone had been too painful, especially since they had been like strangers to each other.  After that, he had stopped working for the Council and kept traveling; the telegrams had been his only contact with them since then. 

 

“You should open the telegram,” Buffy said, breaking the tense silence.

 

Xander picked up the battered envelope.  He couldn’t even remember how long he’d had it now.  One month, maybe two.  He had stopped keeping track of time after it found him.  What was the point if he was the only one left?  One day was really no different from another.  The only thing he cared about was the road and moving along down it.  He thought he might try Tibet next.  Oz had had good things to say about it.  But Oz was dead, like everyone else.  He had been in the car with Willow.  It was good they had found each other again.  If it hadn’t been for the funeral, they might never have.  So one of their deaths at least had had a relatively positive effect.

 

Buffy’s hand came to rest atop his.  “You need to open it, Xander.”

 

He snatched his hand away.  “Why?  All it’ll say is ‘Dear Mr. Harris stop We regret to inform you as to the passing of your friend Rupert Giles on some such date stop We are sorry for your loss full stop.’”   He sighed.  “Opening it is only going to confirm what I already know.  Hell, until the day I got yours, I didn’t think they did telegrams anymore.  Who knew?”

 

She looked at him in that way she had, fed-up, disappointed and debating whether or not it would be worth it to kick his ass to make a point.  “Would you please open it for me?  Your dead best friend asking for one last favor.”

 

“Never pictured you for Marley’s ghost, thought all your business was finally settled.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“So you came all the way from wherever to Siberia to get me to open a telegram that I already know what it says?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t ask, I just do.  Okay, that’s not really true.  I generally ask a lot of questions because taking orders, not my favorite thing.”  She gave him a faint smile.  “I guess you could say I told Them and They let me.  They owe me a few.”

 

“So I open this and you go away again, business finished.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Even if I don’t want you to go away?” he admitted.  It was too good seeing a familiar face, he had to admit, even if it was a face he shouldn’t be seeing.

 

“Xander, just open it.”

 

It was just another telegram with news he already knew.  What harm was there in opening it?  So he did, tearing open the yellowing paper.

 

Inside, however, there wasn’t the standard block typed single slip of paper; instead he found a newspaper clipping.  He pulled it out carefully and stared at it, reading it.  But what he read didn’t make any sense.  He held it up to Buffy.  “Is this some kind of joke?”

 

She shook her head.

 

“But this is from the _Sunnydale Herald_?”

 

“Look at the date, Xander.”

 

He did.  _October 3 rd, 2001_ _._  That didn’t make any sense.  It was the day after they brought Buffy back.  “‘Local Succumbs To Injuries In Biker Gang Attack—Alexander Harris, 20, passed away last night while doctors worked to repair the damage he sustained after being found badly beaten by the attacking gang members who raided the city last night.  He is the only casualty of the brief but brutal attack,.”  He read the words as if he were losing his mind.  There was more, but there was no point in reading on.  “But the resurrection succeeded, and you scared them off.”

 

“No, it didn’t,” Buffy corrected him gently.  “None of that stuff ever happened.”

 

“Yes, it did!” he protested.  “I remember it happening.”

 

“Xander,” she said quietly, reaching over to lay a hand on his arm, “everything you remember _never_ happened.”

 

“So none of this is real?”  He slammed his fist on the table.  Hard, solid wood that hurt like hell when he hit it.  “Sure feels real enough.”

 

“It’s real because you want it to be real.  You weren’t ready to die, Xander.  You did, but you wouldn’t believe it.  So you kept on,” she explained. 

 

This wasn’t making sense.  If he was dead and this was all in his head, so to speak, then while the hell had his life sucked so much?  Wouldn’t he have made it better?

 

“It can’t be perfect because it was never meant to be,” she said as if reading his thoughts.  “It’s all part of letting go.  You can fight it, but eventually you do have to accept it and move on.”

 

“But—”

 

“Think about it, Xander.  You’ve been pulling away from everyone slowly but surely ever since this started until no one is left.”

 

It all kind of made sense.  He didn’t believe it, but it made sense.  Kind of.

 

“If this is all something I’ll accept eventually in my own good time, then what are you doing here?” he asked.

 

“You’re needed.  They can’t wait for you to figure it out,” she said simply.  “And I’ve hated seeing you miserable for so long when you don’t need to be.”

 

“So once again you’re saving me,” he said bitterly.  “Since the day we met, that’s how it’s been. You saving me.  That makes me real useful in the grand scheme of things.”

 

“You’ve never had enough faith in yourself.”

 

No, he didn’t.

 

After a moment, he spoke.  “Let’s say I go along with this whole being dead thing.  What do we do, walk out that door and go wherever?”

 

“It’s up to you.”

 

“Did you have to go through all this?”

 

“Kind of,” she admitted.  “But I did it all before I jumped off that tower.”

 

“Yeah, you chose it.  I didn’t.”

 

“Which is why you’ve been going through what you have.”

 

It really was making a lot of sense.  But before he agreed to anything, he had to know.  “So if none of the stuff I thought happened happened, then what happened?  No psycho nerds?  No crazy Willow?  No First Evil?”

 

“No nerds and no First, but yes, Willow did go a bit over the edge when you were killed.  Fortunately, Tara and Giles were able to bring her back.”

 

“And Anya?”

 

“Was devastated.  She really loved you.”

 

“But she’s okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Buffy said hesitantly.

 

“Yeah, what?  As long as she didn’t end up with Spike, I think I can handle it.”

 

“She married Giles,” she rushed.

 

“But he’s twice her age!” he exclaimed in disbelief.  And it was Giles.  Giles was, well, Giles.  Giles didn’t date or—okay, so there was that candy thing with Mrs. Summers and that woman who had visited him but...  

 

“Actually, she’s about twenty times his.”

 

Oh, right.  But it wasn’t like she looked eleven hundred.  Still trying to wrap his head around it, he asked, “And she’s happy?”

 

“She is.  They, um, just had their second child last year.  Named him after you.”

 

That made him happier than he would have thought.  He found himself smiling in spite of himself.

 

“Willow and Tara are still at my house.  They still look out for Dawn even though she can pretty much take care of herself.  Boy, can she ever!” she laughed.  “Giles pulled some strings and got Faith out of prison so there would be a Slayer looking out for things.  Then when Angel was stupid and willingly lost his soul, she had to go to LA for a bit and help out.  And for some strange reason, she and Wesley, you remember him? They hooked up.  Talk about your odd pairings.”

 

“So, no one is dead?”

 

“Besides us?”

 

“Yes, besides us,” he had to laugh.

 

“A couple apocalypses, but otherwise, things are pretty good.  Mostly.  Which is why I’m here for you.”

 

Hesitantly, he reached for his eyepatch.  “So, if I’m dead, then I don’t need this?”  He had been walking around with one eye for six years.  If there was any truth at all in what Buffy had told him, he could take it off and he would see with two eyes.  But if not, then what?  Was he dreaming?  Or was he finally waking up?

 

“What do you think?” she asked.

 

So Xander removed his eyepatch and saw things clearly for the first time in too many years.  Talk about the power of denial.

 

He had one last question though.  “All that stuff with you and Spike, it never happened?”

 

Buffy grinned.  “Nope.  None of it.”  Her head cocked to the side as she considered for a moment.  “Well, there was a kiss after Glory tortured him.  Pretty good, actually.  I’ve always wondered if a kiss was that good then other stuff might be—”

 

“Yeah, you can stop right there,” he cut in.  “If I promise to go with you now, will you promise never to mention that again?”

 

She stood up as she said lightly, “We’ll see.”

 

One of these days he’d learn to keep his mouth shut.

 

 


End file.
